


Fûth

by flollius



Category: The Hobbit (2012) RPF, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe (ficverse), Implied Character Death, M/M, Orcish Kili
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flollius/pseuds/flollius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Awaken. </p><p>Mired in the desolate wastelands that ring the Lonely Mountain, Ori is separated from the Company during an Orcish attack and found by the ghost of someone long dead. </p><p>A What-would-happen-if-Kili-met-Ori-and-they-rode-off-into-the-sunset fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fûth

**Author's Note:**

> I DID NOT WRITE THIS. 
> 
> I was merely sent this by someone had apparently thought I'd created an interesting scenario in "Frailty" and they just had to write it. I INSISTED they upload it but they refused. 
> 
> But it is so so so good that I wasn't going to even consider NOT sharing. It bears no relation in ANY WAY to the canon of my fic at all and is not to be read as occurring within the same universe. It's simply a 'what-if'. An interpretation. 
> 
> And a damn good one at that.

Ori looked up at the reddening sky. The lonely mountain dominated the view, impossible to ignore. If they had escaped, his brothers and the rest of the Company would be between here and the foot of the mountain, moving ever closer to the end of their quest. Dori would be panicking. They'd think he was lost, like Kili had been lost. But they wouldn't waste time looking for him. Not when they were so close to their prize, not when it was merely Ori who was missing. Some of them would probably, secretly, be glad it was Ori and not someone more useful or important. Ori wished he could just send Dori a message, just a few words – _I'm safe, I'll find you_ – just so his poor brother wouldn't get himself worked up. If he had even more words, he'd add, _I found the impossible._

 

He leaned into the crook of Nardur's back leg, tucking his hands under his arms. The fur against the back of his neck was thick and scratchy, and the smell of warg was clotted in the air. But the rhythm of the deep breaths against Ori's back was soothing. It reminded him of sitting in his mother's rocking chair, miles and miles away in their cramped parlour in Ered Luin. His initial fear of the beast was already waning. Yes, the warg was huge and toothy, but it was just a big, dumb dog, much like the varied and colourful mutts that travelled with human traders. Even besides its smaller size, it seemed like a very different creature from the monsters that had attacked them on the tundra and the mountain slopes.

 

As if in sync with his thoughts, the warg began to thump its tail like a pup, raising its nose and panting as Kili returned. From his good hand hung a pair of long-legged marsh fowl that Ori didn't recognise. His iron-bound hand was flexing by his side to clear some renewed pain. 

 

" _Nardur, throk_ ," Kili said as he tossed the first fowl right into the warg's mouth, heedless of how close his hand was to those brutal, yellow teeth. Its jaws snapped shut and it lowered the bird to the ground to begin dismembering it with the wet sound of tearing muscles. Kili slapped his hand between Nardur's eyes. He said something else – by the soft tone, Ori had no doubt it was an equivalent to ‘good boy’ – and the warg growled suspiciously and bent low over his dinner. 

 

Ori watched Kili wrap the second bird in a bit of cloth and tuck it under the flap of his saddle-bag. He cleared his throat. His flint was one of the few things he still had in his pockets. "I can help make a fire –”

 

Kili looked at him as if for a moment he'd forgotten Ori could talk. His tongue moved behind his teeth and finally he said hoarsely, "No fires. Even if they haven't got our trail, the wargs will smell the smoke from twenty miles off."

 

"We're going to eat raw bird?" Ori squeaked. Dori would have been horrified. He had always prided himself for running the restaurant in Ered Luin where a dwarf was least likely to start throwing up a few hours afterwards.

 

A smile twitched at the corner of Kili's mouth. It was the first time his face seemed to have lost its blank, grim expression since Ori had found him. Or since he'd found Ori, really. He shook his head, "The _kek_ is for Nardur's breakfast," he explained, rummaging in his pack. Ori assumed that _kek_ was the marsh fowl. "We're having this." 

 

He tossed something about the size of a whetstone at Ori, who just managed to get his arms up in time to catch it. It smelled like old porridge and got sticky crumbs all over his mittens. 

 

"It's a sort of bread. I think it's made of potatoes," Kili sat down behind Nardur's foreleg, angled towards Ori so that their feet were almost touching. All his movements were stiff and careful, more like Ori's grandfather than a lad only a few years his senior.

 

Ori took a tentative bite from the corner of the cake, and tried not to gag as he swallowed it. 'Bread' was a very optimistic word for the food. 'Food' was pretty optimistic too. But his stomach was grumbling, so he managed to get through just over half of the cake before he realised Kili was sitting and just watching him. 

 

"Wait, is this yours?" Ori gasped, lowering the cake from his mouth.

 

Kili shrugged. "Eat as much as you want. I'll have what's left."

 

"No, no, you take the rest," Ori wiped his mouth and held out the food, his cheeks burning. "Is this... isn't there more for tomorrow?"

 

"No point rationing it," Kili rasped, taking the cake and breaking off a bit with his fingers. The meaning was clear; better to get the energy now, in case they were caught tomorrow. Ori hung his head.

 

“How’d you get separated from the others?” Kili asked, chewing as he talked. “Were you travelling when the orcs attacked?"

 

“I was at the front. My pony panicked,” Ori said, embarrassed to remember the headlong plunge through the sparse forest north of lake town. “I tried to jump off eventually, go and find the others, but by that time I was already lost. I could hear wargs, so I hid until you found me.”

 

“That’s not when you broke your nose, though? It looks older than that.”

 

“Um,” Ori touched his face gingerly. He didn’t think the injury was still noticeable. It must have left his nose crooked by the break. “It’s nothing. I fell and smacked my face on a rock a couple of weeks ago.”

 

There was the ghost of a smile again on Kili’s face, and Ori smiled in return despite the lie. For the briefest moment it felt like they were back before Beorn’s house, before Fili broke his nose, before everything.

 

"Will you... uh," Kili started, stumbling a bit on the words. Ori looked up and found that he was staring at him. His face was unreadable. "Will you... talk a bit?"

 

"About what?" Ori asked.

 

"Anything," Kili whispered. "Anything you want to talk about.”

 

What he probably wanted to hear was about his brother and uncle, but Ori couldn't – his mind shied away from them even thinking about them. Even if he could think of something to say that wasn't laced with self-disgust at what they both thought of Ori, what cheerful stories could he possibly provide? If they made it back, Kili would learn soon enough how terrible his absence had been for Thorin and Fili. If they didn't make it back... well, there was no point in upsetting him, was there?

 

Instead Ori talked about their time in the elf-king’s palace and the uncomfortable escape out the other side. He talked about his brothers, about their arguments and the tricks and filthy jokes Nori had been teaching him. When he ran out of stupid stories he talked about Bofur and Bombur, and how Bifur had discovered – with what turned out to be a rigorous, multi-levelled survey but had appeared at the time to be a proclivity to eat weeds – the only plant in Mirkwood that had any nutrition and wasn't poisonous. When that ran out he mumbled about Balin, then about Bilbo’s magic ring for a while. Kili listened in silence throughout everything, finishing every crumb of the potato bread within a few minutes. His face didn’t react to anything. He didn’t even seem to be listening. But his eyes never left Ori's face and he never interrupted.

 

Ori’s rambling trailed off at last. Searching for anything to stave off the silence, he pointed at Kili's iron-bound arm. "What is that?"

 

Kili tucked his hand against his side. "It's a splint."

 

"It's clever," Ori said. The struts criss-crossed in thin half-pipes, more rigid and yet lighter than solid bars. "I didn't think orcs were that clever. Did they make it?"

 

"I don't know.”

 

Ori, seized by curiosity, kept talking anyway. "How did you break your arm?"

 

"It's none of your stupid business," Kili spat back.

 

Ori hunched down into his scarf. No. It wasn’t. He glanced at his friend again, trying to reconcile the dwarf he was looking at with the lad he'd followed out of Ered Luin. It was like a poorly-drawn version of Kili, too thin, too ragged at the edges, marked with careless scratches and bruises like an old anvil. His skin was filthy and his hair fell carelessly across his eyes. Ori knew what Kili looked like, or what Kili _should_ look like. This wasn’t it. This was a starved orc wearing a dwarf mask, Ori thought, even as he tried to drive those kind of thoughts away. And his artist's eyes saw the story of what had happened to him, from the bandages peeking out of Kili's collar to the brand on his wrist. It was as cruel a mutilation as if they'd burned off half his face. Ori felt sick. He felt responsible. He could have prevented this. But there was no way to make up for his mistake; he could see that Kili would never be the same, not ever. 

 

Kili had turned his face towards the horizon, away from the setting sun. After a long silence he said, “They found your pictures.”

 

Ori looked up at him. “Pardon?”

 

“Your drawings. The goblins found them. Azog used them against me. He made me tell him who was in the pictures,” Kili’s voice was low, almost a choke.

 

“A-Azog?” Ori whispered. “The pale orc? Th-that’s who had you?”

 

Kili nodded, not meeting Ori’s eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” Ori shuddered. “Those pictures… I should never have drawn them. I’m so sorry.”

 

Kili shifted where he sat. After a moment he shook his head. “You couldn’t know,” after a long pause he continued. “I managed to hold onto one, of Fili and I. It’s gone now, but it was something of a comfort for a while.”

 

“You must have been so brave,” Ori said, barely louder than a breath.

 

Kili frowned down at his feet. When he spoke, it wasn’t in answer to Ori. “Why did you draw me so often?”

 

Ori sucked in a breath. As soon as Kili had mentioned the book, he’d been afraid of this question. He forced himself to shrug. “Not that much more than anyone else.”

 

“Yes, you did,” Kili said bluntly. “You drew me over and over."

 

Ori couldn't meet his eyes. The potato cake swirled in his stomach and threatened to come up again. He wanted to cover his ears and crawl into a hole until Kili forgot about the question. But then he was seized by the need to reveal everything, to explain. Otherwise Kili might figure it out, and think Ori lied for some perverted reason of his own. If they were going to be sleeping beside each other even one night, Kili deserved to know what Ori was.

 

He raised his head. Kili was watching him, waiting. He cleared his throat. "I'm... I'm unmarryable,” he whispered the word as quietly as he could. “ _You know._ And I fell in love with you. But it's wrong, I know, I'll never act on it," he stammered.

 

Kili's head drew back sharply. He continued to stare, a small wrinkle growing between his eyes.

 

“Thorin made us all promise never to speak of it,” Ori said in a rush, desperate to reassure him of what little of his life Ori hadn’t ruined. “No one will think you’re involved. Thorin knows you didn’t… that you’d never have… encouraged me.”

 

Kili had rested his chin on his folded arms. His expression wasn’t as revolted as Thorin’s had been in that moment of realisation that Ori couldn’t wipe from his mind. He didn’t even look as shocked as Nori. At last he mumbled against the iron splint. “But I did encourage you.”

 

Ori shook his head, feeling his stomach turn. “No, of course you didn’t. You didn’t know what I was… what I am. It’s my fault.”

 

“It isn’t,” Kili said, raising his head a little, his voice a husk. “Ori, I—”

 

“D-don’t. I’m not dragging anyone else down with me,” Ori scrubbed his hand across his eyes, determined not to let the tears get any further. He felt sick and frustrated that Kili, fearless and first to defend, always throwing himself into everything, was now trying to ease his shame with lies. It was far too late for that.

 

Kili fell silent, and a few moments passed in silence. The sun hung low inside the branches of the surrounding trees, red as embers. Then he said, “I liked it.”

 

Ori frowned, rubbing his nose with his sleeve. “What do you mean?”

 

“How you followed me around. How nervous you were when you talked to me,” Kili muttered. His cheeks pinked beneath the dirt. “Someone... one of Dori’s customers, he said you were… you know. He was a drunk idiot, I didn’t believe him, and then I guess I did.”

 

Ori’s heart began to pound. He couldn’t breathe. He’d thought no one knew, no one but Dori. How could they know? But apparently people had talked behind his back, had told Kili. It was like a nightmare. And Kili was still talking.

 

“Fili always had girls talking to him,” he said, heedless of the horror ripping into Ori’s gut with every word. “Not a lot of girls saw me like that. But Fili never had anyth—… anyone like you. It made me feel special. So I talked to you more, I offered to teach you things, I made every excuse to touch your shoulder or your hand,” he lifted his gaze and a commiserating smile pulled at his mouth, like they were sharing nothing more than foolish pub stories. “I suppose I was being a bit of a brat, wasn’t I?”

 

“You—” Ori’s arms had fallen to his side. His ears were filled with a growing ringing. “But you’re not like me.”

 

“No,” Kili said sharply. “Of course not. I like dams.”

 

“But,” the ringing filled his head. “You knew, and you...” he shoved himself to his feet, half convinced he was going to be sick. “You let it go on? You didn’t warn me? You thought it was a _game?_ ”

 

Kili’s eyes widened behind his trailing fringe. “No, Ori, I didn’t think of it like that.”

 

“I could have been driven out of Ered Luin!” Ori took a step towards Kili, his voice rising. Nardur raised his head with a huff. Ori didn’t care if the warg attacked him. He wanted to hit Kili. He had never wanted to hit a friend for as long as he’d lived, but he wanted to now. One of the few comforts he’d clung to through his shame was the knowledge that the object of his vile affections would at least never have to know about it. He’d stayed perfect in Ori’s mind, incorruptible in death, while all Ori’s heroes turned away from him. But all along Kili had been playing with him like a child tormenting a trapped animal.

 

“My brothers think I’m foul! Nori thinks – Nori blames my mother, blames Dori, blames everyone – do you know what it’s like for your big brother look at you and see only something broken? And – and Thorin and Fili hate me for even thinking about you – Thorin almost sent me into the wild, he would have seen me dead! For just _thinking_ about you!”

 

Ori didn’t remember the last time he’d shouted at someone in anger. Kili sat without moving, not even leaning away as Ori advanced on him. He jabbed his finger at his own face. “Your brother was the one who broke my nose. For thinking about you like that.”

 

Kili looked away at last, his hands clutching his knees so hard his knuckles showed white against his skin. He didn’t speak, his lips pressed together into a sharp line. Ori’s heaving breath started to even out. He felt as if he’d been sprinting for a long time and was so out of breath he could barely stand. He couldn’t look at Kili anymore. As always, his anger was already giving way to self-disdain. He shouldn’t have shouted like that. He already regretted it. The rage came from so many other sources, other bruises and fears left by Dori, Fili, Thorin, and the unwitting jokes the rest of the company made about him. He’d held his tongue and turned the anger inwards for so long, and Kili was the first target he dared strike against. He shouldn’t have shouted.

 

He couldn’t look at him any longer. He turned and strode off through the thick ferns.

 

“Ori! _Krum_ – stop!”

 

Ori ignored him. The trees closed in, not as twisted and thick as those in Mirkwood, but enough that he had to raise his arms to push through them. He could hear Kili’s footsteps behind him and felt a hand on his arm before he’d even escaped the clearing. He spun back to find Kili silhouetted in the dusky light, face invisible in the shadows.

 

“Where are you going?” Kili snapped, sounding exasperated. “You’re not going to last the night without Nardur and I.”

 

“You shouldn’t sleep near me,” Ori snarled, jerking his arm out of Kili’s grip. He elbowed him when he tried to step in closer, the blow thudding against the iron splint. Kili gave a sharp gasp but didn’t move back.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” he grabbed both his arms, forcing Ori around to face him. “I don’t even care what you think. I just told you I’ve known for ages, why would I care now?”

 

Ori sniffed, shaking his head. It wasn’t that. It was the opposite, the carelessness. If Kili thought the whole thing was just a joke, if he couldn’t see what Ori had been through – was _still_ going through – then what would happen if they found the company again? Thorin would blame Ori somehow. Even if he didn’t, what if Kili talked about it, laughed about it, told Bofur and Dwalin and all the others who still treated Ori with an ounce of affection only because they didn’t know the truth?

 

“What’s wrong with you, anyway? Can’t you just make yourself like girls?”

 

“Can’t I just…” Ori shook his head. “You think it’s that easy? You think I haven’t _tried_? I don’t _want_ this!”

 

“It is easy,” Kili snapped, shaking him roughly. Ori’s mouth snapped closed. He’d never heard Kili speak so tersely, without any sense of warmth. “Just don’t tell anyone! And if anyone suspects, make out like it’s a joke. Make sure everyone sees you flirting with dams. They’re as handsome as the warriors anyway, you must see that. It’s the easiest thing in the world to want them.”

 

Ori felt himself go slack in Kili’s hold. He let out a soft laugh. It was such bad advice, he wasn’t even sure if it was better or worse than Thorin’s cold mercy. The idea of flirting with anybody was totally foreign to him, let alone with some poor dam he didn’t even like. Ori shook his head slowly, staring at Nardur over Kili’s shoulder. The warg was on his feet, his eyes glinting, ready to leap in and defend his master if he thought Ori was a threat.

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ori mumbled, exhausted now. He just wanted to be left alone. He wanted to sleep.

 

Kili didn’t answer, but his grip loosened. He slid his hands up to squeeze Ori’s shoulders, a gesture of the kind of tough familiarity he showed his brother, that Ori had always watched with envy. He felt no triumph at finally receiving it, not after what he’d learned tonight. Kili didn’t even see him as a friend, a fellow young warrior. He saw him as an oddity, a flatterer, a freakish trophy to boost his self-esteem. He was too worn down to even pull away as Kili leaned in, his face tilted to one side, and pressed his mouth over Ori’s.

 

It felt, in the first half-moment, like an invasion. Ori’s body tensed up again from toes to neck, his hands leaping up to shove at Kili’s chest. But Kili had a solid grip on Ori’s shoulders and didn’t budge. All the blood rushed to Ori’s head and he froze up, trying to process what was happening, where was the danger, what should he do? Was he being attacked? How did he defend himself?

 

Was Kili _kissing him?_

 

He was – he _was_ – Ori’s lips parted to speak and he _tasted Kili_ –

 

Strength rushed back into his limbs. He pushed harder this time, and Kili broke away. He was breathing hard.

 

Ori felt dizzy. “What are you doing?” he said, not recognising his own voice. He sounded sad, almost disappointed, and much older than he was.

 

“I thought it would make you feel better,” Kili said. As if he’d offered Ori a cup of tea after a long day on the road.

 

Ori stared at him. The sun was low enough that the glare was gone and Ori’s eyes were adjusting in the darkness. He could see Kili’s expression at last. He’d expected some glint of madness, an indication that the torment he’d suffered had wrecked his wits. Or even a twisted smile, some sign of a previously undetected cruelty, because Ori’s distress amused him so much. But there was a controlled blankness in his face. He looked, in fact, as he’d looked when he had asked Ori, _“Will you talk a bit?”_

 

This time Ori could interpret it better. Tentatively hopeful. Self-defensive. Frightened and full of longing,

 

Ori swallowed. “Pretending doesn’t make it better.”

 

“It always worked for me,” Kili rasped.

 

Ori’s skin seemed too sensitive all of a sudden. One hand had been clenched against Kili’s collarbone a moment ago, but now without his conscious command it was slipping around the side of his neck, his glove catching on the stubble scattered across the top of Kili’s throat, the pad of his thumb brushing the starved edge of Kili’s jawbone. The air seemed thin. His lungs certainly couldn’t get enough of it.

 

Ori’s mind had gone silent. Throughout his whole life his thoughts had been far too active, had over-analysed every moment of every social interaction, had been quiet only when he was drawing or particularly drunk. For months and months they had endlessly babbled with litanies of self-blame and anxiety until it was a wonder other dwarves couldn’t hear them, they were so loud. Now it was all just a distant hum.

 

He let Kili in close again, not even aware that he was tugging on a thick handful of Kili’s hair, that his mouth was hanging open. He let him kiss him, his breath hitching. He felt the kiss now that he wasn’t being ambushed. He felt the coarse scrape of unshaven skin, and Kili’s dry, cracked lips, their mouths fumbling. His fingers caught in the tangles of Kili’s hair. Their noses bumped awkwardly and got squashed against each other, which hurt the still-healing break. Kili’s hands kept shifting as if he didn’t know what to do with them, moving from Ori’s face to his arm, then to rub his ear between thumb and forefinger. Ori knew his own hands were shaking, and he wasn’t sure he had any control of them anymore. And it was all rather wet.

 

He never wanted it to end.

 

It went on. Ori had never seen people kissing in public before; it was something you saw accidentally and looked away from quickly, so he’d never realised it was still nice to keep doing it even when you’d been doing it for quite a long time already. It went on, as the twilight shrunk away and the wind died to a faint rustle in the treetops. His thoughts were starting to return in dribs and drabs, and he thought how boring they must have looked to anyone watching (Nardur had sat down again and gone to sleep, he noticed at once point, when he briefly opened his eyes), and how _not at all boring_ kissing actually was. Not even a _little bit_. Ori found himself pulling off his gloves, shoving them hurriedly in his pocket so he could get back to the business of touching Kili’s face and neck unhindered, pushing his hair back and kissing his cheeks, his throat, his ears. He was painfully aware of how thin Kili was, of the places he kissed where Kili winced from old bruises. And yet it was almost wonderful, that Kili still wanted to kiss him despite that, still tipped his head so that Ori could nuzzle the thrumming pulse on his neck.

 

He had thought about this. In private, in his most secret thoughts, he’d thought about how much he wanted this and for a long time acted like there was no harm in dreaming. The reality was so much better. He hadn’t imagined how every irregular hitch and grunt in Kili’s breath would go straight to his gut until he applied himself to drawing those noises out again and again. He hadn’t imagined how frustrating it was not to be able to get any closer, to be pressed along their whole bodies and clutching Kili tight and for it still not to be _enough_. And it wasn’t enough, he knew suddenly, as their hips bumped together and something electric shot up Ori’s spine. He had thought a bit about that in his fantasies but never known how much he would need it, how that need overrode his good sense and before he could think twice he was fumbling at Kili’s belt with its rough, orcish clasp.

 

Kili gasped and Ori stopped, frozen with one hand already half under the band of his trousers. His palm was turned against Kili’s belly, feeling the thick trail of hair leading downwards. Kili’s arms were wound around his neck, their foreheads pressed together, but Kili was breathing fast and shallow against Ori’s face as if terrified. Ori was about to withdraw when Kili’s hips jerked.

 

“Are you—” Ori started to say, not even sure whether he meant to end it with _sure, alright, worried?_

 

“Ori!” Kili hissed. Impatiently.

 

Ori reached down and Kili whimpered and ground their heads together, his arms gripping tight around Ori’s shoulders as if testing both their strength before a battle. Ori’s heart was racing as if it were a battle indeed, and there was a feeling like fear, but it was flooded over with need. He undid his own belt too and took them both in hand and tried his best to not ruin this. He didn't know what he was doing, not really, but he kept going while Kili was making those sounds in his ear and, well, they were young and it didn't take long in the end.

 

They sunk to their knees, Kili first and Ori pulled down with him, both of them shaking. He didn’t notice until now how cold the night was, made worse by the sweat on their skin.

 

Ori whispered, “I love you,” and then squeezed his eyes shut and bit the inside of his cheek, because what an idiot. Why did he say that? Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut?

 

But after a few seconds Kili just laughed, disentangling their limbs and staggering to his feet. He tucked himself back in and buckled his belt, holding his hand out. Ori realised he’d spilled both of them all over his hand and wiped it quickly on the grass, his cheeks burning. He was glad he took his gloves off now. Kili laughed again, still holding his hand out, “Hurry up, you big girl.” He said, and pulled Ori to his feet.

 

They settled down on the leeward side of Nardur’s flanks. Ori tried to lie with his head on the warg’s front leg, and Kili pulled him away. “Careful, he kicks in the night. Dreaming about hunting.”

 

“Hunting what?” Ori asked, trying to get comfortable with his folded arm as a pillow. The grass was better than rocks, but the cold ground still drained the heat right through his clothes. He shouldn’t have jumped off the pony so early. The saddlebags had a bedroll and spare cloaks and food.

 

“Dwarves, no doubt,” Kili said, scratching his chin. He was propped up one elbow, facing Ori. “He’s been trained to kill us from when he was pup. Lucky he’s not a fast learner.”

 

Ori chuckled, trying to repress a shiver. He’d rather not think about that while he was trying to get to sleep. He had… much better things to think about, as it happened. In the rising moonlight he couldn’t take his eyes off a pale triangle of skin where the top tie of Kili’s vest hung open. It was scattered with dark hairs, and Ori reached out and brushed the back of his knuckles against them.

 

“Please don’t tell anyone,” he whispered, glancing at Kili’s face. “Please. I know you think it’s not important but Thorin will kill me if he finds out I did this to you. I know he will.”

 

Kili’s mouth turned down so sharply and his eyes grew so dark that for a moment Ori thought he was going to lash out at him. But his gaze was staring at a point past Ori’s shoulder, his nostrils flaring as he sucked in a shallow breath. “He’ll never know,” he said. His voice had grown hoarse, rough like an Orc’s, the way it sounded when he spoke the black tongue. His expression twisted his features so much he wasn’t even recognisable for a moment. “I swear, Ori, he’ll never know a thing.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

After a moment, the darkness seemed to pass away from Kili’s face. He shuffled closer and Ori undid his cloak and spread it over both of them.

 

“I still don’t see why you’re so weird,” Kili said, wriggling and throwing his arm over Ori’s waist. He couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position to lie in. Ori wondered if the bandages and the broken arm had anything to do with it.

 

“What do you mean?” Ori asked.

 

Kili rolled onto his stomach, his face turned towards Ori and his head cushioned by his arm. “Well, I still want a wife. I still like Fargrliga and her lovely, low dresses,” he was talking about a cousin-in-law of Gloin’s, a dam their age who Ori had always envied because of her preternatural talents as a draftsman. He was aware that most young dwarves saw her quite differently. Kili shrugged, “But I don’t see why I can’t have this as well,” he tugged gently on Ori’s beard, his eyes half lidded. “I thought everyone was like that and they just didn’t talk about it.”

 

“I don’t think they are,” Ori said, stung that Kili still saw this as a youthful game, easy to abandon once marriage was on the horizon. “And I don’t think you understand the seriousness of what we’ve done.” He didn’t really want to discuss it, either. Kili seemed so boisterously confidant that everybody loved him. Everyone always had, after all. Skinny, funny, reckless Kili, always playing up his stupidity for laughs, incapable of taking offense. _How could anyone not fall in love with him?_ Ori thought bitterly. _It wasn’t my fault._

 

Kili met his gaze, his expression turning stony. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he turned his face away, folding his arms. His right wrist was bare and the brand shone on it like silver. Ori didn’t know the jagged rune, but he knew what it meant.

 

“My shame is marked,” Kili said, his voice muffled because he was looking away into the forest. “I belong to Azog, now. I can run as far as I like, no one can break that chain.”

 

Ori felt like his throat was full of hard stones and his stomach heaved. Before he could think about it put his hand around Kili’s wrist. The skin was cold, the scar smooth against his palm. He croaked, “What do I care about it? It’s not like you can put _my_ name there.”

 

Kili turned his head to look at him sharply, his eyes wide, but a smile tugged at his mouth. “Ori! Mahal, you’re ridiculous,” he sniggered. He glanced over Ori’s shoulder as Nardur grumbled, his back legs twitching. “We should sleep. We’ll get moving again before dawn.”

 

Ori squeezed his wrist and pulled back, trying to get comfortable enough to rest. He thought he’d never be able to relax, after the madness of the day and with Kili lying beside him alive. And yet within a few minutes, he was dead to the world.

 

* * *

 

Ori awoke with a jolt. For a moment he thought he was in the camp with the company and wondered why Dori was shaking him so hard, and why it was so dark. Then he glimpsed a sharp face leaning over him, ringed by a mess of dark hair.

 

“Get up,” Kili was barking. “Ori! Up!”

 

Ori shoved himself into a sitting position. Kili was swinging his pack onto his back and Nardur was at the edge of the clearing, slinking back and forth with his tail low and his lips peeled back from his teeth. There was a red glow in the east, but the stars were still clear in the sky directly above.

 

“What?” Ori jumped up. “What’s going on?”

 

“Nardur’s got antsy. I think he heard something,” Kili said. He whistled and the warg padded over, his tongue hanging out between his jaws. Kili adeptly swung himself up onto Nardur’s back and extended his good hand to Ori. “Come on.”

 

“Maybe I can keep up on foot—” Ori swallowed.

 

They both raised their heads as there came, very faintly, the thin note of a distant howl. Kili’s eyes went wide and his breath quickened. He shook his arm at Ori. “Get on!”

 

Ori clambered up behind him gracelessly. He wrapped his arms around Kili’s thin waist, feeling his ribs right through the leather vest he wore. Kili leaned over Nardur’s neck, hands balling in the warg’s fur. “ _Sûr! Vadu!_ ”

 

Nardur burst into a run, bounding over the rocks at the edge of the clearing and straight into the scattered trees. Branches whipped past Ori's face and cracked under Narder's paws as they ran down gullies and through thin creeks, water splashing up around them. The warg's fur was slippery and with every jolting footstep Ori felt like he was going to slide off backwards. He clung tighter to Kili and lowered his head as much as he could, flinching as leaves slapped his face. He was just starting to get the hang of it when they hit another mossy slope and Nardur stumbled and yelped.

 

Kili swore and leaped down off the warg's back at once. He urged Nardur up to the top of the rise and checked his paws. He shook his head at Ori and beckoned him down. "He's not cut, but we're too heavy for him. Guess we’re going on foot after all."

 

Ori clambered off the warg's back, splattering mud up the sides of his legs. He looked at Kili, “You could keep riding as fast as you can. I’ll follow behind.”

 

“Don’t even think what you’re thinking,” Kili snarled at him. He and Nardur were already loping on through the forest and Ori jogged to catch up, glancing back over his shoulder. Another howl sounded through the trees.

 

"We're almost there, Ori!" Kili yelled. "I can hear it!"

 

It took Ori a second to realise he didn't mean their pursuers, and then he heard it too. The low grinding of a huge river. Within a few minutes a grey, early morning sky showed through the trees ahead and they broke out of their cover. They were standing on the top of a rocky bank, and the glacial waters of the River Running wallowed past about ten feet below. 

 

"We're trapped," Ori said breathlessly, clutching a stitch in his side. He looked back as another howl rose from the trees behind them.

 

"No. We're going in," Kili said grimly, kneeling to undo the buckles of his boots. "Tie your shoes around your neck, they'll only weigh you down."

 

Ori pressed his hands to his mouth. He felt dizzy just looking at the swirling waters. "I can't, Kili.”

 

Kili straightened up, knotting the buckles and hanging his boots over his shoulder. "It's the only way, Ori. Even Azog can't force his goblins into a river like this. They'd have to build rafts, and we're not their main prize anyway – they'll go after Thorin and the company once they realise we're out of reach."

 

"I can't swim!" Ori insisted, as Kili bent to undo his boots for him, making him lift his feet out like a child. 

 

"Hang onto Nardur, you'll be alright," Kili promised, even pulling Ori's socks off and stuffing them into the toes.

 

"I thought wargs hated water."

 

Kili shrugged. "They do," he hung the boots around Ori’s neck and turned to wrap an arm around Nardur’s head, speaking into the warg’s ear in the black tongue. 

 

Ori shook his head, picking at his scarf. He couldn't go in there. _He couldn't_. Their long trip out of the elf-king’s palace had been dreadful enough, and this time he wouldn’t even have the floating barrels to hang onto. He'd drown, or be bashed to pieces against the banks. Seeing his hesitation, Kili took two swift steps back towards him and grabbed his face. 

 

"Listen to me. If you end up back on the West bank, this is the most important thing you must remember. You've got your knife?" he hissed. The whites of his eyes were showing and there was a tremor conducted down his arms. Ori nodded silently. Kili held his gaze and said, "If you get stuck and you see them coming for you, you take your knife, you put it in here," he pressed two fingers into the side of Ori's neck, "Here, Ori, behind your throat, as hard and fast as you can. Pull it forwards and out. You have to get the artery. A slit throat is survivable."

 

His voice was swollen as if on the verge of tears. Ori stared at him. He said numbly, "Kili..."

 

"I'm not letting him do to you what he did to me," Kili was gripping his face so hard it hurt, and he jerked Ori's head forward. "Don't let that happen."

 

"Alright. I won’t," Ori whispered. 

 

Kili dragged him in and kissed him, so roughly it crushed Ori's lips painfully against his teeth. He tasted salt from the sweat of their flight. In a moment it was over and Kili had released him, turning to take a running leap over the bank without any warning. Ori heard the splash of his landing and a moment later his head appeared in the swell just out from the bank, his hair plastered to his face and his mouth open to gasp in air. He waved his arm.

 

"Nardur! _Skaat_ , Nardur!" he yelled. 

 

The warg was whimpering, but he edged to the lip of the bank. Ori realised it was now or never. If he waited, he'd be stuck, or he'd have to jump in alone and then he'd drown for sure. He stepped up close to the warg and gripped a fistful of the hair on the back of his neck. The current had already carried Kili forty feet down the river, his features barely visible. 

 

"We can do this, Nardur," Ori said through gritted teeth. What had Kili said to make him walk? " _Sûr._ "

 

They jumped together, crashing into the surface of the river in a clumsy mess of limbs, fur and clothes. The water was so cold it felt like needles all over his body, and his chest locked up as he rose to the surface. Ori found he couldn't breathe. He heaved and heaved for air that wouldn't come, feet kicking and arms paddling wildly to stay afloat, his clothes pulling him down. The water shoved and shoved him like a trampling herd. It wasn't until he felt a long snout under his elbow that the shock passed and his lungs sucked in air. Coughing, he clung to Nardur's neck, kicking as hard as he could. He couldn't tell which way they were facing or where the shore was. Faintly he heard Kili whistle and Nardur, whining, turned to swim towards the sound. 

 

As the current battered him, Ori looked back at the bank where they'd been standing moments before. A cluster of figures stood there, goblins with dark armour and hunched shoulders. At their head stood a pale shape taller than a human, sitting on a white warg. The figures watched Ori and Nardur as they were carried swiftly on down the river, and on the wind came a roar of rage that cut into something primal in Ori's chest. He turned to look for Kili's head above the water, and when he glanced back, the figures were gone.

 

They floated for a long time, further and further away from the Lonely Mountain. Ori couldn't see Kili above the water most of the time, but Nardur could hear his voice calling them and followed obediently into the centre of the stream where the current was the least erratic. They must have gone for more than five or six miles before Ori saw Kili waving his arm towards the east shore, the far side from where they’d started. He was exhausted and freezing by then, and could only kick weakly to help Nardur swim towards the rough eddies at the edges of the river. Ahead he saw Kili go past a muddy beach that looked easy to drag themselves up – it occurred to him later that even from the far shore, their footsteps would be visible in the mud. Instead Kili caught hold of a cluster of boulders. 

 

Ori watched him haul himself up onto the lowest rock, water pouring off his body. He slumped onto hands and knees for a few moments until he turned back to the river. Ori and Nardur were approaching much faster than they’d expected. Ori began to kick in earnest and paddle with his free arm, terrified at the thought of missing the landing and losing Kili further downstream. At the last moment Nardur made a great lunge for the shore and flung his front paws onto the rock, kicking and dragging himself frantically up. Kili shoved him further onto the stones and grabbed Ori's hand just before he slipped away. Between them they managed to heave Ori, spluttering and shaking, up to safety. The river smoothed their ripples over in moments and flowed on. 

 

Ori lay on his back panting for some time. He didn't even flinch as he was spattered with water from Nardur shaking himself. He wanted to lie here and stare at the clouds for hours, but soon Kili was slapping him on the shoulder.

 

"Come on. Let's get out of sight."

 

He helped Ori stand and they stumbled into the trees, letting him pause only briefly while they both laced their shoes back up. Ferns tripped him and creepers hung in front of his face, but Kili led him deeper, with Nardur loping ahead, his fur glistening like grass on a dewy morning. For several minutes they walked, until the roar of the river had faded and was replaced by humming cicadas and the twitter of birds.

 

"Surely we don't have to go too far," Ori wheezed, steadying himself on a tree trunk. His clothes were heavy and stunk of wet wool. His braids were coming out. He wanted to rest, just for a few minutes. Kili didn't answer, drawing further ahead until he was almost invisible in the shadows. Ori groaned. "Kili, we're on the wrong side of the river from the company. We should go north."

 

He glared at his friend's back, and at that moment, Kili seemed to stumble and go down on one knee. Ori blinked. "Are you hurt?"

 

"No, thank you," Kili called. There was an odd tone to his voice. And why 'thank you'? Ori took a few steps closer as Kili surged on, his legs and arms held stiff as he marched deeper into the forest. The landscape here was jagged, with grass-covered boulders rising around them like the bodies of giants. Kili climbed over a low rock in his path, took a couple of steps beyond it and disappeared.

 

"Kili!"

 

Ori forgot his exhaustion, bounding up over the rock and dropping down onto the mossy floor beyond. Kili lay motionless on his side, slumped half over a thick fern. Nardur had hurried back and was nuzzling his face, huffing in distress.

 

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Ori chanted, almost under his breath. He shook Kili’s shoulder, nudging him onto his back. His eyes were open, narrowed and aimless.

 

“I’m fine, _amad_ ,” he muttered, and then seemed to focus on Ori. He sucked in a breath and smiled, turning his face into the moss, shaking with laughter. He was shaking all over, in fact, trembling from toes to fingertips. “Did I call you…?” his laughter caught in the back of his throat, “Ori, I thought you were my mama…”

 

“You’re sick,” Ori chewed on his bottom lip. “Can you stand?”

 

They got Kili on his feet without too much difficulty, but he walked in slow, swaying steps, almost falling as soon as Ori let one of his arms go. Ori felt the beginnings of panic clawing in his mind as he realised had no idea what to do. Was it a fever? Was he wounded? How could it come on this quickly? Kili didn’t feel feverish. His skin was chilled and white, his fingernails grey-purple, and he wouldn’t stop shaking.

 

Finally it hit him like a whip-crack. It was coldbone, the first signs of danger in any winter journey. For dwarves trapped in the snow or standing too long underground, especially in rock-borne rivers, the confusion and the clumsiness were the beginnings of death by cold. Ori had been taught this from childhood even though his family were neither miners nor journeymen. But he also knew that usually, coldbone was something humans had to watch for, or else it struck the babies and the very old. Not hale, young dwarves on warm autumn days – but Kili _wasn't_ hale, he corrected himself. Without the muscle and the padding of a healthy dwarf, maybe coldbone could creep in after only a short while submerged in cold water. Kili had to get warm. He had to get warm or he would die.

 

“Nardur!” Ori called, hoping the warg would obey him. There was a dry cradle of grass and dirt beneath two looming boulders nearby. Ori dragged Kili into the shelter, sitting him down and making him wrap his arms around his torso. His heart was racing. “Nardur! Sit with him, come here, keep him warm,” Ori flapped his hand at the warg, who stood back and growled suspiciously at him. “Oh, why am I talking to you? You don’t even speak Westron.”

 

He found his flint still weighing down his pocket, but it was wet as it could be and all he could do was lay it out and hope it dried quickly. He had to risk a fire and hope the swim had been worth the cost. He dashed through the trees nearby, breaking dead wood right off the trunks where he could find it, and snapping thick pine branches with fat bundles of green needles. He carried it all back in armfuls. Nardur had finally got the idea and lain down around Kili, panting and thudding his tail. Kili was curled against his flank, fingers buried in the thick fur. Only a thin sliver of his eyes showed beneath the lids, and his breath was laboured.

 

“Talk to me,” Ori said. “Hey! Kili! Stay awake,” he leaned over his kindling and shook Kili’s foot. “Tell me what happened to you. Tell me how you survived.”

 

“N-no,” Kili stuttered, his teeth chattering. “I’m dead. I’m alr-ready d-dead.”

 

“You’re not dead,” Ori fumbled with the flint, still damp and heavy in his own cold fingers. “Stay awake. Think of Fili. Think of Thorin. They’ll be so happy to see you.”

 

Kili let out a groan through gritted teeth. He pulled on his hair, his eyes squeezed closed, one foot tapping on the dirt as an especially violent tremble overtook him. Ori felt like he was being pulled in all directions, unable to light the fire comfort him all at once. Nardur twisted around to lick at Kili’s face, and Kili hunched his shoulders as if too weak to escape the warg’s affections.

 

Thankfully, the fire caught quickly in the dry, late-summer tinder. Ori dug holes into the hard earth with his knife and propped the pines branches up at angles, hoping to keep the wind out and the warmth directed into their little shelter. He stripped off his cloak, his boots and most of his outer layers and hung them on the branches to dry, and then turned to Kili.

 

“No,” Kili snapped when Ori’s hands fumbled at the ties of his vest. “G-get off me.”

 

“They’re soaked, it’s making it worse!” Ori begged. “Please, Kili, I’m trying to help.”

 

Slowly, Kili stopped fighting and allowed Ori to stand him up and peel his wet clothes off layer by layer, carefully tugging the vest sleeve over the iron splint.

 

And beneath, the story unfolded.

 

He was thinner than any grown dwarf Ori had ever seen, his body barely comparable to the healthy lad who had bathed beside Ori in the shadow of the Carrock. His skin clung to his ribs like a wet sheet and his belly hung almost concave beneath. Burns as large as Ori’s hand stood out red and half-healed. There were green bruises everywhere, some centred by scabs, and bandages, a multitude of different weaves, were stuck across almost every inch of his back. They were slick and falling off from the river, doing nothing but drain heat, and Ori still had to take a breath before he started to remove them. He saw Kili tense, saw his eyes grow hard and his mouth turn into a flat line, but he made no sound. As the injuries emerged in front of his eyes, Ori’s empty stomach rolled and he suppressed a gag. There was little left. So little left that was undamaged, was not scabbed or breaking open and weeping runnels of blood into the river water. Ori tried not to look, feeling as if he was peering on something private and humiliating, but a part of him couldn’t look away. A hot rage was building inside him, crawling up his neck like smoke up a chimney and raising the pressure in his skull. Someone – someone had done this to Kili. More than once. And he’d learned not to make a sound throughout it. 

 

Ori remembered two fingers pressing against his neck. He remembered Kili’s wide eyes, like an animal in a trap. He covered his mouth with his forearm as he finished hanging up the bandages – they couldn’t waste cloth right now – and turned back to Kili. He was not going to cry. If Kili wouldn’t make a sound while those fetid bandages were ripped from his back, then Ori was _not going to cry_. He wasn’t a baby. Dori wasn’t here to pat him on the back and give him a cup of tea when this was over. He had to forget what he was looking at, what it _meant_ , and focus on getting Kili warm.

 

He couldn’t touch his back. Maybe he shouldn’t have removed the bandages, he thought, as he bullied and cajoled Kili into sitting chest-to-chest beside Nardur, legs tangled together with Kili’s arms around him. He didn’t even feel a jolt of desire, not while his friend was in this state. Getting close, with the fire on one side and the warg on the other, was the best chance they had. For some time they just stayed there, with Kili’s chin on Ori’s shoulder and Ori’s arms hanging low around Kili’s waist where the damage was the closest to healed. After some time, when the sun through the clouds had perhaps reached its zenith, Kili stirred.

 

“I wasn’t brave,” he whispered, his voice as soft as a moth in Ori’s ear.

 

Ori tightened his arms around his waist. “I’m sure you were.”

 

“I broke like a twig,” Kili said. He sounded almost as if he was talking in his sleep. “I gave them everything. Told them you were hiding at Beorn’s hall. Told them who I was, so he knew he could use me to get to Thorin. I even gave up my brother. I’m no son of Durin.”

 

Ori swallowed. He wanted to say something, something perfect and heartening, something that would make Kili see that no one else had been tested as he had, so how could he know he didn’t measure up? But everything stuck in Ori’s throat. He could keep him warm, but he couldn’t heal him. He couldn’t keep nightmares out. He wasn’t Fili. He couldn’t do anything except be here, now.

 

* * *

 

By the late afternoon, their clothes were dry and the edge had been taken off Kili’s illness, which was lucky because Nardur had got bored some time earlier and padded off into the forest. Ori wrapped his dried cloak tight around Kili while he fetched more wood for the ever-hungry fire. He didn’t want it to grow too large, in case there were things besides orcs on this side of the river, but neither could he bear to stamp it out.

 

By the time he returned Kili was sitting upright beneath the rock overhang with his chin on his knees, staring with hollow eyes at the low flames. His cheeks had pink in them and his gaze was lucid. Ori would have done anything to be bringing him two bowls of hot stew instead of kindling, or even one of Nori’s horrid, watery soups. But they had nothing to eat or drink but a half-full water-skin that had been in Kili’s pack. For the first time Ori felt a twinge of worry about this. They were in the wilderness, still miles and miles from the inhabited parts of the Long Lake, let alone Thorin's company. The other dwarves could be anywhere by now – maybe inside the mountain itself. Finding them would take days, even if they could get into the hidden door without the key, and they simply didn’t have the supplies for it.

 

He tried not to think about his worries, and did his best not to fuss over Kili, though it was a great temptation. It was in his blood, he supposed. His whole family was fussy and meticulous, even Nori who pretended not to be. He kept adjusting the windbreak, checking the damp clothes and harassing the fire until it was smouldering at the perfect heat. And now that he had tentative consent to touch Kili whenever he wanted, he couldn’t stop himself putting his hand on his arm or the back of his neck, under his hair, to see that his temperature was stable, and checking the wounds on his back to see if they’d stopped bleeding. The first time, Kili flinched and Ori apologised, but Kili insisted it was alright. After that he leaned into the touch, and Ori did his best not to squirm with joy.

 

"Are you warmer?" he kept asking, as if the answer would really have changed from ten minutes ago, and Kili just nodded sluggishly each time.

 

"I didn't even realise how cold I was," he said after a while. "The last time I wasn't cold was at Beorn's hall," his eyebrows lifted in some memory and he mumbled. "And after the poppy tears, I suppose."

 

"Who gave you poppy tears?" Ori asked.

 

Kili shrugged. "A friend."

 

"A friend? Was there another dwarf with the goblins?"

 

"He was an orc," Kili said in a dead voice. "Azog killed him."

 

Ori didn't bring it up again. He was running out of things to do and it was making him feel fidgety and nervous. He almost burst into tears when there was a rustling in the bushes and Nardur came into view dragging half a young fawn from his jaws. The warg carried his gift proudly into their small camp and dropped it at Kili’s feet, then stood with his mouth hanging open. He’d already eaten most of the hindquarters, leaving little but bloody ribbons that flitted with a few flies.

 

Kili hadn’t even flinched as the carcass splattered in front of him. He glanced at Ori, raising an eyebrow with a pained smile on his mouth, and finally lifted one arm and rubbed the warg’s snout, looking at the deer with a resigned grimace.

 

“ _Breku_ , Nardur,” he said in an exhausted voice. “Good fellow.”

 

Nardur barked and lapped Kili’s face with his huge tongue, smearing bloody saliva across his cheek. Kili didn’t even duck, waiting while Nardur did a lap of the camp and settled down beside him with his head on his paws. Finally he brought his fingers to the sticky mess down the side of his face, wincing as he looked at Ori. “For a minute there I was actually clean.”

 

Ori chuckled and stirred the fire. He butchered the meat as best he could with his small knife and started roasting the liver and the fattest strips at once over the fire. He tried hanging the thinnest steaks up to smoke, but he wasn't sure how well they'd keep. They'd just have to wait and see what they tasted like in a few days. 

 

He wiped the gore off his hands onto the grass outside the camp and came back to check their clothes. Most of them were dry at last, though Ori wasn't sure what to do about the bandages yet. He didn’t think they were clean enough to reapply, but he had no way to boil water, and surely they were better than nothing, or better than the vest going straight onto those fresh clots. He decided that complete avoidance of the issue was the best plan for now.

 

They ate the strips with their fingers. Ori had to coax Kili into nibbling the first piece, but then his stomach must have got the better of him and he ate ravenously and fell into giggles when the fat dripped off his chin. Ori’s shoulders shook with silent laughter of his own, not because it was funny but because he had never heard anything so wonderful in his life, Kili’s real laughter when only a few hours earlier he’d been barely able to stand. After everything that had happened, it was nothing less than miraculous.

 

He cut the liver up bit by bit with his knife, like a fruit, and skewered the pieces before passing them over, trying not to stare at Kili’s mouth as he ate them from his thin fingers. The food inside them was warm and comforting, leaking strength into their veins. Ori was leaning forward over his half-bent knees when he felt Kili’s hands on his arm, and Kili’s head resting on his shoulder. He felt his face redden, beaming to himself. But then an image flashed through his mind of the company around fires in the evenings, and of how Kili often hung off his brother’s arm and dozed on Fili’s shoulder, and he knew he was needed for none of the reasons that he wanted to be needed. He squeezed Kili’s hand and stood up, making a show of checking the drying clothes again.

 

"If the meat keeps, we should have enough to get to the mountain and look around for a couple of days," he said, standing over the fire with his hands on his hips. After all the terror of the morning, he was starting to feel rather good about himself. He'd never been stuck in such poor conditions with so little help, never been anywhere dire at all without his mother or Dori. But look how he was handling it – he'd followed Kili’s lead to safety, saved him from coldbone, set up camp and sorted their clothes and some food (with Nardur's help, of course). Given where they'd started, they really couldn't be in a better position right now. He sorted through his thoughts aloud, “If you ride Nardur for tomorrow, we should make pretty good time. I’m sure there’ll be fords closer to the great gate. It should be safe enough to cross the river by night. Then we’ll just have to hope there are signs of the others’ passage. I’m sure theirs will be the only footprints for a hundred miles, we’re bound to catch up with them.”

 

But then Kili's reply knocked the wind right out of him.

 

"We're not going to the mountain," he said. He was staring at the fire again.

 

Ori’s eyes widened. “Beg pardon?”

 

“We’re not going to rejoin the company,” Kili lifted his gaze at last to meet Ori’s eye. His mouth was a grim line and his brow was heavy, as if the laughter over the cooked meat had been nothing but a brief ripple now settled on a glassy pond. “We’re going our own way. That’s why I wanted to get onto the east side of the river in the first place.”

 

“What about the quest? Our home. Your family’s treasure!”

 

Kili shot him a look of utter disdain, as if Erebor meant nothing more to him than a filthy outhouse in the woods.

 

Ori wrung his hands, feeling naked without his mittens. “But… I can’t go off somewhere without seeing my brothers! They’ll think the worst!”

 

“What does that matter?” Kili snarled. “Aren’t these the same brothers who think you’re ‘broken’? Why would you want to go back to them?”

 

“No! Dori… he doesn’t…”

 

“Does he think it’s wonderful, what you are? Is he so pleased he’s been telling everyone how proud he is, how he’ll stick by you no matter what?” Kili’s voice was low and hoarse again, full of a sound like black tar. “You think he won’t be relieved, knowing you died without staining your family’s name?”

 

Ori bit his lip. He shook his head. Where had this anger come from? He felt like he’d been caught off guard. Kili was clearly still addled by the coldbone. He wasn’t thinking straight. And he was wrong – Dori had defended him, hadn’t he? It would kill him to think his little brother was dead. To go through what they had all watched Fili going through. He would never be _glad!_ Ori took a breath, reluctant to bring up the topic they’d both been avoiding. “Fili and Thorin will want you back, Kili. They missed you so much—”

 

“Thorin! Thorin left me to die!” Kili roared, shoving himself to his feet. The cloak fell half-open, but he made no attempt to cover himself up. His lips were pulled back from his teeth, his features were twisted and his hair hanging across his face. Nardur woke up with a jerk and tensed into a crouch. Kili threw his splinted arm out, pointing at the Lonely Mountain. “Thorin put his quest and his company above any chance of getting me back alive! He left me in the hands of his worst enemy, to be tortured, to be broken over and over!”

 

Ori found his chest constricted, the blood pounding in his ears. Finally he shook his head again. “We thought you’d been murdered. No one even suspected you could be alive.”

 

“Why not?” Kili spat. “Did you think I’d die of fright, like a startled rabbit? Did you think I couldn't survive long enough for a rescue?”

 

“No! We – we found your clothes and your w-weapons–” Ori squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. It had all seemed so sure, so obvious at the time. Balin had said it was so. Everyone had said it was so. But now that Ori was saying it, it sounded weak and stupid.

 

“My clothes,” Kili dropped his arm. “You didn’t have my body, not even my bones.”

 

“But it wasn’t done lightly!” Ori pleaded. “No one wanted to believe it, I swear.” He wished he could take Kili back despite the pain they’d see, show him those terrible first hours and days after his disappearance, show him the tomb his kin had built with their own hands. Surely if he saw the tomb he’d realise how much his family still loved him.

 

Kili shook his head. “He didn’t tell you, did he?” There was poison in his voice now. Ori almost didn’t want to know what he was going to say.

 

“Who? Tell me what?”

 

“Thorin knew I was alive,” Kili whispered. He tightened the cloak around his shoulders. “Azog sent a message to Beorn’s house, only a day after I’d gone. He tried to ransom me, to lure Thorin out alone. Thorin never came for me,” he wrapped his hand around his own throat, looking away at some nightmare Ori couldn’t share.

 

Ori’s knees started to shudder. He licked his bottom lip. “It must have got lost. Kili, he must not have got the message.”

 

“You think Azog would make a mistake like that?” Kili hissed, his features crumbling. He took a step backwards, reaching for the wall of the rock overhang and sinking unsteadily back to the ground, one hand still clawing at the rough stone. He looked like an animal again as he had when they’d camped yesterday, thin and ragged, trapped and desperate for a fight against captors that no longer threatened him.

 

Ori kept shaking his head, but no words came to him. He didn’t believe it. And at the very least, Fili must be blameless, Fili would never have left his brother –

 

– What had Fili said? When he’d attacked Thorin in Mirkwood, why had he done that? Ori had been gushing blood at the time, but the pain sharpened his memory even now. Fili had shouted, _You killed him!_ Had he known? Had Thorin told him? Had he convinced Fili not to go back? It wasn’t possible. Ori didn’t believe it even for a second.

 

He wanted to tell Kili everything, finally pour out how he’d watched Fili succumb to his grief, his rage in the heart of the forest, the cutting of his beard, the slow opening of all his old wounds so that Thorin and the others could finally help them heal. He wanted to tell Kili how dark and quiet every day had been, how sharply his loss had been felt as it trickled down from Thorin, Fili and Dwalin to every member of the company by degrees. Oin and Gloin had even sat at the edge of the camp one night and whispered that maybe this was the breaking point of the quest, maybe Thorin would not be able to lead them this year, nor next year, or perhaps never again.

 

But the bitter voice that had picked and nibbled at Ori's confidence, that had echoed his anxieties and his fears over and over during the last few months, changed tack very suddenly. It reminded him of Dori's warnings that he would never be allowed to live among other dwarves if his secret emerged. Ori thought of the look on Thorin's face when he'd _allowed_ Ori to stay with the company rather than banishing him to certain death. How quickly Thorin had turned on him, even when Ori had told the truth, pleading his innocence of any unnatural action. That's what he would be going back to. Any gratitude Kili's family felt about getting him back would be tempered by Ori's perversion. They would not welcome him. They would tolerate him. They would be nothing but suspicious. They would give him the bare minimum of thanks and then hustle Kili away to make sure Ori never spoke to him alone again, let alone touched him. There would probably be questions ( _why did it take so long for you to bring Kili back? What were you doing with him? Did he hurt you, Kili? What did he do?_ ) And Kili – who had already admitted faking propriety for so long – would give in to them. Maybe he'd keep Ori's secret ( _it's fine uncle, nothing happened, Ori and I just travelled together_ ) but he would have to pretend he didn't know what was wrong with his friend. And he certainly wouldn't ever, ever kiss him again. Not ever. Not as long as they lived.

 

Kili mumbled, breaking into his thoughts, “We can go away, Ori. No more duty, or honour, or shame. We can do whatever we want.”

 

Ori wanted to tell him how much he had been missed.

 

But he didn’t.

 

* * *

 

"Where will we go?" Ori asked. "We can't survive on the occasional game that Nardur leaves us. What do we do in winter? In the snow?"

 

"We'll go to the Iron Hills first," Kili said, chewing on his bottom lip. "There's always work there for able hands, my brother said. Mining or construction. And I've seen how good your handwriting is, you could do copying or dictation easy. We'll use false names, say we're brothers."

 

"With a warg in tow?" Ori shook his head. "Without a tribe or lineage? People will think we're _criminals_."

 

"It doesn't matter," Kili folded his arms on his knees. "Don't you see, Ori? We don't need their respect. Their coin is all the same. They won't ask questions unless they know for _sure_ who we might be, and they won't know that unless we tell them. Once we have some money and supplies we can go anywhere. Dunland. Rohan. The sea. The Orocani Mountains. Anywhere we like. Wouldn't you like that? With me?"

 

Ori closed his eyes just to get away from his gaze, from that face he couldn't disobey. But he nodded. "Yes. Yes, I would." 

 

They ate the last of the fresh meat that evening and slept as soon as the sun went down, with the fire fading and the embers glowing as the breeze whispered between the boulders. They slept pressed together back-to-chest with the cloak over them both, Ori behind with his arm hanging over Kili's shoulders. Nardur lay curled around their heads, snuffling to himself in his dreams. 

 

Ori woke to Kili twitching, and just managed to grab his arm as he thrashed out suddenly. His voice cried hoarsely.

 

“ _Kau! Diisum... Nazarg, kau_...”

 

It was too dark to see his face, but Ori knew from his tone that he was still deeply asleep, and when he shook Kili the fit only grew worst. He jabbed his elbow into Ori's jaw before his fist connected with his ribs. Ori had to seize him and hold him down, trying not to panic, trying to soothe him, "It's alright. It's me, there's no one else here." And after a few minutes Kili unclenched his fists and seemed to settle back to sleep. 

 

Ori lay for a while, his bruised ribs throbbing. He could taste blood from a bitten lip. He wished he could open Kili's mind like a book, flick through and tear out the pages written in blood and pitch, the pages littered with words of black speech and names as ugly as their owners. He'd put new pages in with drawings of better times and quiet, peaceful moments. But he was also afraid of what else he would read in Kili's head, afraid of seeing his own name in there, of the nasty, whispering voice that said, _he doesn't even like you. He likes the attention. He likes to be loved. He likes being in control._

 

Ori gritted his teeth and pressed in close to Kili again. _So what?_ He whispered. _So we both got what he wanted._

 

When he next opened his eyes he found Kili had got there first once more. He was slouched back against the grass with his hands on his stomach, staring into the forest without much sign that he was really seeing it. Ori was looking up the length of his body, which seemed merely odd for a moment, until he realised his head was resting on Kili’s thigh.

 

Ori came awake in a rush and sat up quickly, blood rushing to his cheeks. They must have shifted together their sleep, and Kili hadn't even tried to push him off. He made a show of rubbing his eyes and yawning to cover it up his embarrassment. When he looked over next, Kili was watching him with a quirk in his mouth that he had not, in fact, covered up anything.

 

“Good morning,” Ori coughed.

 

“Is it?” Kili raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well… we’re not running from a pack of goblins,” Ori pointed out. “So, yes?”

 

Kili shrugged – Ori wasn’t even sure whether that meant assent or annoyance – and went back to staring at the forest. That did at least make it easy for Ori to look at him without feeling so awkward. In the morning light, the anger and wildness had subsided. Kili looked merely tired now, and much older than Ori remembered him being. 

 

They were free. It pulsed through Ori suddenly, like his first breath after being born. He didn't have to hide, he didn't have to lie, there was no one looking down on him in disgust every minute of the day. He felt as he was emerging from some black, narrow tunnel that had squeezed him and scratched him and kept him blind for so long that he had no idea until now that it would ever end. Looking at Kili, at the way he couldn't seem to take his eyes off the empty forest, he knew that Kili was still inside a tunnel of his own. But maybe the light was starting to get in, maybe he could hear Ori's voice echoing ahead. 

 

Before he could think about it, he crawled over, propped his hands on either side of Kili's shoulders and leaned in to kiss him. This time there was no thrill of surprise, but that made it all the better. He could deliberate on every movement, explore Kili’s mouth as if he was a study for some artwork that would surpass all that Ori’s modest talents had produced before. He could feel Kili’s caution, and then his accelerating response. This time Ori knew he was the cause of the hands combing through his hair and tugging at the hem of his tunic. Maybe Kili didn’t really want him, but he wanted this.

 

Duty, honour, shame – already falling away. 

 

* * *

 

The world was burning.

 

They stood on the edge of the long lake watching the fire pour from the dragon like wine from a jug. From right across the water, the air had grown warm with the inferno and the smoke was enough to sting Ori’s throat. Even the water seemed to be full of fire. It glinted off every peak in the waves and boiled in inverted synchronisation with the dragon’s breath and the collapsing houses of the town. They could hear little besides the roar of the great worm and the crack of beams and bridges, but Ori imagined the sound of screams and sobs.

 

Nardur stood at Kili’s left shoulder, panting with his ears flattened. Ori was on his right. He didn’t know how long they had been standing with their boots sunk into the sand at the edge of the lake.

 

At last, Ori looked at Kili. His expression was stony. But tears were pouring down his cheeks, reflecting gold-red off the fire.

 

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Ori whispered. His brothers, his king, his friends. “If the dragon is here… they awoke him and he killed them.”

 

Kili nodded, never taking his eyes off the burning town.

 

Ori felt for his hand, the one not splinted with iron and leather. He laced their fingers together. Kili gripped back hard enough that Ori felt his bones grind together in his knuckles.

 

“Let’s never come back,” said Ori.


End file.
